by John Norman
But her greatest strengths, of course, came, as she began to comprehend, almost daring to begin to hope, with the mammals, and mammalian sorts, and, progressively, among these forms of life, with the primates, both those closer to and farther from humans, and then, advancing further, with humanoidal sorts, and even more humanlike sorts, many of whom kept women such as she for labor and pleasure, and with some of whom such women, commonly with certain biological adjustments, would even be cross-fertile, and culminatingly, of course, like explosions and eruptions, like tides and seasons, with those for whom she had been prepared by a billion years of evolution and selection to appeal to and delight, the males of her own species, human males, and these, at the tables, she gratefully noted, were in the vast majority.
I am beautiful, she thought to herself. I am desired. I am wanted, and as a slave!
It is well known how beautiful and exciting women are when they dance the dances of slaves, even a legally free woman, but one who would be, of course, a slave in her heart, dancing before one, out there in the darkness, she hopes is her master. Suppose then that she who dances such a dance is truly a slave, fully and legally, which must be the case in many places in the empire, who can be priced and purchased, who knows herself slave, and is subject to discipline, and must obey. A thousand times more meaningful then is her dance, and her reality! How men might scream for her, and bid for her!
“A gold ring for the slut!” called a man.
“Two!” cried another.
“No!” shouted a man, in fury. “The scales, and lead, will decide her fate!”
On many worlds it is well known, though on others the information is suppressed, that biological realities exist, such as dominance and submission, strength and vulnerability, reciprocal needs, jealousy, possessiveness, protectiveness, sexual dimorphism and its meaning, claimancy and command, behavioral genetics, readinesses to respond to sign stimuli, longings for completeness, the desire to belong to, and yield to, the master animal, and such. Illustrative of one small aspect of these matters, one might consider the matter of sign stimuli and, in particular, what one might speak of as “emphasis sign stimuli.” The lips of a woman, for example, have a natural color and function as sign stimuli, having a role to play, as does the totality of her loveliness, inward and outward, in arousing the male. But it is well known in many cultures for the color of the lips to be deepened and intensified by the application of, say, lipstick. This, in its way, enhances and intensifies nature, and thus, in its way, constitutes a sign stimulus which does not occur in nature itself, or, at least, in nature short of its witting enhancements, taken then as a part of nature. That is an “emphasis sign stimulus.” Cosmetics, generally, and jewelry, and perhaps clothing, on the whole, function as such “emphasis sign stimuli.” Now consider the subtler matter of possession. There is little doubt that the primitive human male, in effect, claimed and owned his mate, much as he might have his tools and weapons, though a legal concept of property is unlikely to have existed at such a time. In such a sense then, the sense of male dominance and female submission, the sense of the possession and ownership of the mate, and of other women captured, one can think of slavery as natural. Women who might, say, evade or flee such relationships would have been less likely, presumably, to replicate their genes, and thus, in time, nature would have selected for the dominant male and the submissive female, his subordinated, serving, treasured prize. As civilization developed, these relationships would tend to be elaborated and complicated, and, for example, the slavery of nature would tend to come, in some of its aspects, at least, to be the slavery, in effect, of merchant law. Thus, just as cosmetics and jewelry, and such, might enhance, as emphasis sign stimuli, the natural female, rendering her even more exciting and attractive, so, too, legalized slavery, in the context of a complex civilization, in the emotive and cognitive dimensions, as emotional and cognitive emphasis sign stimuli, would render the female ever more desirable, exciting, and attractive. This is doubtless one reason the female slave is far more sexually arousing than the free female; her slavery itself is an incredibly powerful emphasis sign stimulus. Add in then the lore of the slave, her skills, her role in the civilization, how she might be marked, or identified, collared, or ankleted, or such, how she is to be dressed, how she is to behave, and such, and considering all these things as emphasis sign stimuli, one begins to suspect something of the secret of her sexual magnetism, something of her incredible desirability, something of the extraordinary power of her attraction. And, too, of course, these things are reciprocal, working as much on the female, perhaps even more, than on the male. The woman who must see males as masters cannot help but find them sexually disturbing, and a thousand times more interesting and attractive than might a free woman. Bondage induces not only interest in the opposite sex in the human female, but primes her with readiness and eagerness. The collar makes her not only the slave of her master, but of her own passion, as well. Too, she longs to kneel and express her devotion in a thousand ways. She longs to love and serve, and give of herself. She is a slave.
“Three rings!” cried a high fellow in one of the Alemanni tribes, the Dangars.
“Five!” cried another fellow, from another of the Alemanni tribes, the Teragar, or Long-River, Borkons.
“No, no!” cried a man, angrily. “See the scale! It tips to the skull! It points to death!”
“No rings of gold for her!” cried a man.
“Would that I had a ring of gray, base lead, to hurl it into the pan of death!” cried another.
Huta hurried to the fellow who had cried this out, and fell to her knees before him, some feet before his table, and then, on her knees, with her body and arms, to the music, lifting her arms to him, so danced, on her knees, in supplication before him.
“Ai!” cried a man.
The fellow tried to turn away, but in a moment, furious, tears streaming down his face, turned again, to regard the slave.
Huta lifted her dark, glorious hair, spreading it about herself, and then shielded herself with it and then, as though timidly, and as if commanded, drew it away from her body, looking at the fellow, as though shyly, frightened, as though he had ordered this done.
“Ai!” he cried, in fury.
And then, to the music, she wrapped the hair about her wrists, as though they might be bound, and then placed her wrists, crossed, behind the back of her head, holding them there, as though they were bound there, and then, before him, regarding him fearfully, surged, and struggled, as though helplessly, as though striving to free herself from bonds, but futilely.
“How now will you cast your pellet?” inquired a fellow at his elbow.
He put his head down, weeping, striking the table with his fists.
And Huta was up, to dance before another. “I will fill your drinking horn with emeralds for her!” called a high fellow of the Aramars, one of many tribes allied with the Alemanni.
“A thousand rubies!” cried another fellow, from the Vessites, the Copper People.
“A diamond from Kolchis III!” cried another fellow, a Buron, from Safa Minor.
There were a great many tribes, and peoples, allied with, or well disposed toward, the Alemanni.
In the Alemanni nation itself, as we have mentioned, there were eleven tribes.
“Dance, slave, dance!” cried a man.
“Yes, Master!” cried Huta.
Huta could not but have been aware of the effect of her dance on the feasters, and, in particular, on the humans, the Alemanni and others, and, indeed, even on certain of the other species as well, some not even closely kindred to the human species. As we have suggested, several of these species kept human females as slaves, putting them to a variety of purposes.
Huta began to suspect, the hope rising in her, suddenly, irresistibly, wildly, elatedly, in her dance, that she might have a chance for life, that she might be able to exert some real influence in her favor, however small, on the dark matter which, only too realistically, hung in the
balance.
“Dance!” cried another.
“Yes, Master!” she cried.
I may live, she thought wildly. I may live!
She swayed, meaningfully, before a man.
She read his keen desire in his eyes.
I have power, she thought. I have the power of a slave!
“See! She grows proud!” cried a man.
This terrified Huta, whose slavery then was only too clearly recalled to her.
She flung herself to the rush-strewn, dirt floor, rolling and begging, prostrating herself, piteously.
Her movements said, I am not proud! I am weak and helpless, and I beg mercy!
“Oh!” she suddenly cried, as she lay supine, in the dirt. Her hips suddenly shook, and rocked, uncontrollably. She lifted herself a little, with her hands and her heels. Her haunches heaved, and she was startled. Her hips bucked. She lost the music, bewildered, for a moment, turning to her side, pulling her legs up, in consternation, trying to hide and cover herself.
There was laughter.
“Oh!” cried more than one of the ladies of the empire, moving wildly on her knees. Many of the others turned scarlet, trying to cover themselves.
“Finish your dance!” cried a man.
But Huta, now, could do little more than crawl on her knees, her stomach moving, to reach the foot of the dais.
“Take the vote!”
“Cast the pellets!” cried men.
“Mercy, Master!” wept Huta, beside herself in misery, and bewilderment, her eyes wide, her hands at her hips.
Muchly then was there laughter.
“Behold the needful, helpless slave!” cried a man.
Huta cast a pathetic, helpless glance at him.
“Masters! Masters!” cried one of the former ladies of the empire. “We are yours! Take pity on us!”
“Down!” cried one of the lads, savagely, lashing across the shoulder with his supple, greenwood switch she who had cried out. The former lady of the empire put her head down, bent far over, weeping, clutching her thighs.
Other former women of the empire moaned, looking about themselves, fearfully, wonderingly, at men who might, at a word from Abrogastes, become their masters.
Huta’s hips, despite her efforts, moved.
“Forgive me, Master! Mercy, Master!” she cried.
“The music, slave, the music!” cried one of the musicians, angrily.
Abrogastes regarded her, eyes closely lidded, face expressionless, considering what a mere touch might do to such a slave.
“The music!” cried the musician.
Doubtless for such a lapse, in a tavern or brothel, a girl might be muchly leathered.
“The music!” insisted the musician.
The whip lies always to hand, you see, to instruct such women in deportment, its presence admonishing them to control themselves to the end of the dance.
They may afterward be thrown to those for whom they have been reserved.
It was not unknown, too, that their own girls might, upon occasion, in the dark, woolen, silk-lined, lamp-lit tents, fall to the rugs, weeping, tearing away veils, touching their collars, writhing, begging for the touch of masters.
Such was sometimes permitted, if there were no guests.
But sometimes, even in taverns and brothels, it is recognized that a woman, even one frightened and resolved, cannot always help herself. She is, after all, a slave, and is thus in a state of intensified nature. Some of the manuals recommend lenience, even indulgence, at such times.
What is done depends, of course, on the master.
“Dance!” ordered he who was first among the musicians.
Huta then, in agony, crawled to a few feet before the dais of Abrogastes, and knelt before him, precisely as she had before the spear.
“Good! Good!” said the leader of the musicians.
She then, to the music, leaned backward, until her dark hair was swirled upon the rush-strewn floor, and then, slowly, gracefully, came forward, lifting herself, her hands, and arms and body seemingly entwined with the music, obedient to its beat and caress, helplessly responsive to the melody, exquisitely, vitally vulnerable to it, submissive to it, swept up in it, like living silk in the wind, borne by it, and in it, sensuous and rhapsodic, wordless and eloquent, fluent in the speech of desire and emotion, like the glow of firelight on a brass vessel, the movement of silk, the rustle of ankle bells.
“Good,” said the leader of the musicians.
Then she bent forward, as she had before the spear, and, trembling, performed obeisance, head to the dirt, palms on the dirt, before Abrogastes, and then lowered herself to her belly, and crawled to the dais.
“Down,” said Abrogastes to the rumbling, agitated hound to his right.
The beast subsided, its ears erecting, the bristling, manelike hair, crackling, descending over the knot of muscle at the back of its neck.
Huta then squirmed to the surface of the dais and, putting down her head, began to kiss and lick at the boots of Abrogastes, as she had at the butt of the spear, still held by the two warriors toward the center of the hall.
The music then, suddenly, stopped, Huta’s tiny hands about the left boot of Abrogastes, her lips pressed down, piteously, fervently, to the boot of her master.
Huta trembled.
The furred boot of Abrogastes was damp with her tears, and dampened, and streaked, pressed down, wet, from the desperate, placatory attentions of her soft tongue and lips.
Abrogastes rose to his feet, and, with his boot, thrust Huta from the dais.
She lay then on her side in the rush-strewn dirt at the foot of the dais, trembling.
She drew her legs up, she covered the soft, swelling beauty of her bosom with her hands.
Her hips stirred in the dirt.
She wept. No longer could she help herself.
“Behold the helpless slave!” laughed a man.
There was much laughter.
But the slave, miserable, and in agony, could not, as we have said, help herself.
“The proud Huta has been stripped of her freedom,” said a man.
“And of her clothing,” laughed another.
“And now, too,” said another, “she has been stripped of her pride.”
Huta shuddered.
She sensed that no woman who has so danced can ever again be anything but a man’s slave.
She lay there in the dirt, trying to control herself.
“It remains now only to strip her of her virginity,” said another man.
“Yes,” said another.
“Abrogastes!” cried men. “Abrogastes!”
But Abrogastes descended from the dais, and stepped over the trembling form before the dais, which had, in the plans of Abrogastes, now served its purpose.
“Are you well feasted, and well entertained?” called out Abrogastes.
“Yes!” called men, and other forms of life.
Goblets smote upon the heavy planks of the feasting tables.
“This is nothing,” cried Abrogastes, “only a little food and drink, and the pathetic appeal, in dance, of a meaningless slave.”
Men looked at one another.
“Do you think it is for the sake of such trivialities, such pleasantries, that I have called you here?”
“Speak, Abrogastes,” called a man.
“Behold the spear of oathing!” called Abrogastes, pointing to the great spear, held upright by two warriors.
The hall was silent.
Abrogastes then surveyed the former women of the empire, kneeling, huddled together, frightened, here and there, before the tables.
They shrank back, but well, after the dance of Huta, knew themselves slaves.
She who was the first of the three display slaves, kneeling, raised her hands from her thighs, turning them, and lifting the palms, piteously, to Abrogastes.
Another, she who had been lashed when she had called out for the pity of masters, lifted her head a little, pathetically, but dared
not move. Muchly did she fear the switch of her impatient, youthful mentor. Her eyes spoke for her.
Others of the women had their thighs pressed closely together. Some squirmed.
“To the spear, slaves!” called Abrogastes, harshly, waving his hand about.
These women had been well instructed by the example of Huta, and they hurried piteously to the great spear, and desperately, in fear for their lives, and, too, muchly aroused by what they had seen, the dance, and the masters about, and their own vulnerability, and condition, as slaves, ministered to the great spear, holding it, grasping it, pressing themselves against it, pathetically, caressing it, licking and kissing it.
There was much laughter at the tables, as the former women of the empire, with their bodies, their small hands, and their lips, and tongues, bestowed attentions upon the mighty spear.
They crowded about the spear, trying to reach it, kneeling, and bellying, none on their feet, each vying with the other, each striving to touch it, to lick and kiss it, each attempting to do so more lovingly, more zealously, more submissively, than the other.
“Behold the women of the empire!” called Abrogastes. He gestured to the crowd of slaves at the spear, performing the spear obeisance.
The men at the tables looked on, approvingly.
“Do they not attempt to caress pleasantly?” asked Abrogastes.
“Yes,” said men.
“Do they not attempt to lick and kiss well?” inquired Abrogastes.
“Yes!” called men.
“Are they not pretty little things?” called Abrogastes.
“Yes,” shouted men, approvingly.
“Do you not think they could be instructed to squirm well?” inquired Abrogastes.
“Yes!” laughed men.
“Enough!” cried Abrogastes, sharply, and the lads, who had been alerted to this moment in the feast, long before its commencement, lashed the ladies from the spear and to their bellies, where they then lay in the dirt, clustered about it.
“We are despised, as you know, my brothers,” said Abrogastes, “by those of the empire, we, the lords of stars, by the fat, the haughty and the weak, by the complacent, the petty, the smug, the wealthy, the arrogant.”